It was little comfort life had ever brought to her, what with harsh treatment from a cruel father, and the woman's work that came upon her young shoulders, while her mother traveled up and down the streets with her basket of small-wares, trying to get the wherewithal to keep soul and body together. The lazy husband droned away the hours in the dram-shops, gulping down the hard earnings of his busy wife, or he staggered home with his reeling brain, to vent his ill-nature on the little pale thing that kept the house. It was "Nannie, do this," or, "Nannie, do that," or, "Nannie, mind the baby," all the live-long time, when he was sufficiently sober to know what was going on about him; and if the tired little feet loitered at all at his bidding, a wicked oath or a villainous blow hastened her weary steps. "What was she born for, any way?" She looked down upon the face of the sleeping babe whose cradle her foot was rocking, but it gave her no satisfactory answer. It was not a bright rosy-cheeked thing such as she met every day just round the corner, where she went to the pump for water! She must have been just so white and sickly, for the bit of a looking-glass that she picked up from an old ash-barrel in the street gives her back no round and healthy cheeks, but the reflection of a meager, sad-looking face, that nobody can care to look upon! And they must always be so, both baby and she, for one of her teachers in the Industrial School told her that nothing could be strong and healthy without the sun, and there was never a single ray in that dreary basement.

Oh! no, they needn't be weak and sickly! A thought has occurred to her—she wonders why she never had it before! Perhaps father wouldn't like it if he should come home and find her away. But love for baby is stronger than fear of father, and so she tidies herself up as well as she can, and wrapping the little one in a piece of an old blanket, takes it out where it is the brightest and sunniest, and there she sits on the broad stone-steps of some great house, watching the merry children who play upon the walk, and wondering if she can ever hope to see dear little Winnie as joyous and happy.

"Look at that poor girl," said one of the gay children, stopping her hoop and touching her brother upon the back with her stick; "she's got a little baby in her arms just as big as sissy—hasn't she Willie? And only see what an old ragged blanket it has on! Haven't you got any nice clothes for the baby?" said she to the young girl, who had heard her, and was moving off with the wee child hugged closely to her breast—"because sissy has a great many, and I know mother can spare you one," and with that she ran up the steps, and pulled the bell as hard as she could.

"Oh! mamma," said she, all out of breath with haste and excitement, "there's a little bit of a baby out there, just like my sissy, and it hasn't any thing on its feet, and the old flannel rag can't cover it half over; won't you let me give it that one you put in the mending basket? It is so much bigger and nicer than that!" and the tiny arm was thrown caressingly around the gentle mother's neck, and the little lips were touching her cheek.

"Blessings on her swate heart!" said Biddy, rising, by her mistress' permission, to get the blanket. "'Tis never the like of ye'll come to want, so shure as my name's Biddy Halligan, an' ye so free in your benivolence. But where's the baby, faith?" said she, as she went down the steps holding the little girl by the hand.

"Oh! Biddy, what shall I do? she's gone, and now I can't give her the blanket!" and the disappointed child wiped her eyes upon her pinafore, and stood still upon the walk, while her nurse looked down the length of the street.

"Maybe that same is she," said Biddy, "with the brown bonnet upon the head, as is going round the corner by the the big grocery."

"Oh! yes, that's she," and little May brightened up, and walked as fast as she could to overtake the poor girl. They reached her just as she closed the door of the basement after her, and May hung back at first, half frightened as she looked into the dismal place; but Biddy encouraged her, so that she just ventured within the door, and handed the small parcel; then she would go home, for a vague feeling of evil haunted her timid mind in that dark and lone spot.

Nannie opened the bundle, and her eyes glistened as she saw the great square of soft flannel with a pretty silken border worked all around it. "They can't be bad people all of them that live in grand houses, as father says," thought she, "or they wouldn't have sent me this pretty thing!" She is so glad to get home before he comes, for now, perhaps, she can escape a scolding, and, common as cross words are to her, she shrinks from them. She will go out every day at this hour when it is pleasant, and then she will not be missed at home. "'Tis so nice to have that comfortable covering for Winnie, for now she can hide her scanty apparel, and she will look quite respectable and neat;" for Nannie has some idea of neatness, and really tries to better the condition of the family. She learned a great many good ways at the school, and she does not forget them, although she has not been since baby's birth, and they will tell greatly upon the whole of her life. There was a time when she did not care if the floor was all covered with heaps of dirt, and she would go out into the street with the rags flying all about her, and her hair in masses of thick tangles, and her face quite black and ugly. Now she scrubs up the room very often, and you never see any of the streamers hanging from her garments, for she mends them as well as she can, and she makes free use of the nice water that is a blessing of such magnitude to the poor. Her hair too is always glossy and smooth—no matter if she does have to wear a coarse frock, and an old and faded bonnet, they are whole, and that is far better than rags or dirt. She isn't a bit ashamed of them nor of her bare feet, for they are so white that the blue veins are plainly visible, and things are so much better than they used to be.

"This is a very pleasant morning, what with the nice little girl, and baby's new blanket!" and she went to fold it up and lay it in a safe place for the next day, when a rough hand caught it from her.

"What have we here?" said her drunken father; "embroidered, eh! that's good luck, indeed! I'll take it, child, it's just the thing, it will bring a good price!"

"Oh! don't, please don't sell Winnie's blanket, father!" pleaded Nannie; "it is all she has that's decent, and a good little girl brought it on purpose for her, please don't take that, father!" But the man was gone, and while the girl sat sobbing over her loss, he was greedily swallowing its price as he had done that of many a nice article before.